Poetry and Art, Rhyme and Unreason

He sat in that chair
Like a King on a burnished throne.
The light played off his hair
And turned it into
Gleaming threads of gold.
His eyes were closed as he
Thrummed the guitar strings.
He was lost
In the music,
In the moment,
In the words
Of the song.
It was at that point;
That shining golden moment
When I realised
That I was also lost
And that I loved him.

Ah forsooth!
My gastromancy skills
Alert me to the fact
That you, perchance, are ravenous.
Don’t get cantankerous –
Fasten up your bowyang
And we’ll galumph together
Down the aisles in Lidl
And purchase you
A Bombay Bad Boy.

Some fret and worry about this and that –
They claim that life is fate they cannot change.
Their negativity is like a rat
Who gnaws away inside; they think it strange
That I should choose to walk another road,
One where the route meanders far and wide.
The grass is always green and freshly mowed;
Flowers of fortune bloom on ev’ry side.
They offer opportunities untold
If one should care to stoop, look and explore
Considering each petal and each fold;
I find each blossom leaves me wanting more.
I’d rather have this life; I am resigned!
I’ll never be a captive of my mind!